Butterfly Storm
by Jetamors
Summary: Cho Chang disappears just after her sixth year. Where is she? Will she find her way home?
1. Here comes a storm in the form of a girl

**Chapter 1**

Here comes a storm in the form of a girl . . .

Terry, Michael, and Anthony were chattering away like magpies, but Cho and Marietta sat silently in the compartment. Marietta still wasn't speaking at all. She had been vague and disoriented since the _incident_, and the DA members were all either ignoring her or rushing up to her with mirrors and polished spoons.

Why couldn't they understand? Cho was the only one who stood by her friend. Even Michael and his mates were only here as a favor to Cho; all of them, even Michael, pretended that Marietta wasn't there at all.

Of course, Cho hadn't been immune to the backlash either. Between her support of Marietta and her breakup with Harry, there had been nasty whispers dogging her every step for the last few weeks of school. It had got pretty rough after that devastating loss to Gryffindor; Cho remembered feeling as if she had hit rock bottom. At least when Cedric died she had been surrounded by friends and family. This time, thanks to her faith in Harry, all of her old friends had driven her away, and after the DA fiasco Marietta was the only person she had. And right now she was hardly company at all.

But then Michael had shown an interest. Cho favored him with a grateful smile as she thought. He was smarting too, about the Quidditch match and his own recent breakup, and he didn't seem to mind that she was supporting Marietta. He was just an all around decent bloke. Really, she wasn't surprised that Ginny had dumped him. It only went to prove that you could never trust a Weasley.

Had there ever been a good one? Cho vaguely remembered the one who had been Head Boy a few years back. Perhaps he was okay. The twins were boisterous, but they seemed mostly good-natured. They had been quite brave against Umbridge also, almost as much as Harry. But the younger two were nothing but trouble. Ron, who couldn't believe in the existence of a true Tornados fan. And that Ginny . . . Cho swore under her breath, and then sniffled. The boys noticed immediately and stopped talking.

"Cho? Are you all right?" Michael asked tenderly. Cho blinked away the tears and tried to ignore the nasty looks Michael's friends were shooting at her.

"I – I was just thinking about Quidditch, and that little Ginny Weasley," she managed to choke out. Her cheeks burned.

"Hey. It's okay, love." Michael leaned forward and took her hands in his. Her vision was a bit blurry from her tears, but Cho could still see his warm brown eyes. They reminded her of chocolate.

"I know. It's just – I worked _hard_ to fly better, after Cedric died, and I deserved to get that Snitch!"

"It's all right, deep breaths," Michael urged. Cho tried to follow his suggestion and gave a long, shuddery sigh. "I'll get you a glass of water. Just calm down." He nodded to his mates, and all three stood and left the compartment.

In their absence, Cho did her best to cool off, but it was a losing battle, especially when Marietta gave her a tentative pat on the back. The unfairness of _that_ entire situation descended on her again, and it took a few minutes for her to get herself under control.

In the meantime, Michael was having an urgent and whispered conversation with Anthony and Terry out in the corridor. As other students went up and down, they would break off, throwing suspicious glances at the interloper.

"Look, this is hard, okay? I've never ditched a girl before. How do I do it nicely?"

"What are you talking about, nicely? This is Cho Chang we're talking about. She doesn't deserve any kindness from you."

"I told you, she's a sweet girl. I just can't deal with all this crying. There's got to be some way to let her down gently."

"The way that she – what do you _want_, Longbottom? – the way she starts sobbing her eyes out at the drop of a pin, there's probably no easy way to do it. I reckon you ought to make it brutal and quick. Maybe she'll be so shocked that you'll be gone before she can make a scene."

"What are the chances of that? She's a Seeker, so she's used to thinking on her feet. And the last thing I want is for her to be angry at me. Girls go crazy when they're pissed off. Remember the time Susan Bones cracked a broomstick over your head?"

"Look, we've just had some legendary disagreements, that's all."

"All right, all right, let's figure out a plan of action. You, Michael, basically don't want to deal with her melting down on you, right?"

"Well, yeah, that's the general idea. Though I really don't want to hurt her too much, no matter what you two think of her."

"Good luck with that one. She's been clinging to you like a Devil's Snare to a tree."

"You're not being very helpful, here. Anyway, no one said you have to do it on the platform. Just owl her a nice letter a day or two after you get settled at home saying that she's a lovely girl but you just don't think it'll work out. She'll have all summer to get used to it, and you won't have to deal with her in the meantime."

"You're brilliant, Anthony! And you'll help me write the letter and all, right?"

"What, you don't want my help?"

"Shove off, Terry. If you helped to write it, she'd probably go on a ten hour broom ride just to punch me in the nose."

Feeling much jollier than they had for some time, the three boys reentered the compartment, only to be met with two blank stares.

"I thought you were going to get me some water."

Cho disembarked, grabbed her trunks, and looked around for people to say her goodbyes to. There would only be a few people, not like this time last year, when everyone stopped to give her a hug. But that memory was too painful. She paused a moment to wipe her eyes, and then set off, weaving her way through the crowd milling around on the platform.

First was Marietta, who was to be driven straight to St. Mungo's to get Hermione's Sneak Charm reversed and try to figure out what happened to her. It was Cho's opinion that Hermione had addled Marietta's brain somehow. She'd been behaving rather oddly, and her schoolwork had gone all to pot. The healers would be able to sort it out, though. She gave Marietta a kiss on each cheek and took her to her mother.

Next were a few cold farewells to people who, until recently, had seemed like lifelong friends. Su Li was the only one who gave her a hug. The rest either shook hands or stood back as if she had some infectious disease.

She didn't even bother trying to talk to the former members of Dumbledore's Army. They, in turn, looked around her as if she wasn't there. The only exception was Loony Lovegood, who mumbled a distracted "Goodbye, then," as she was passing by. Cho had promised herself that she wouldn't look for Harry, but when she gave up and scanned the crowd he had already gone through the barrier. Probably to spend the summer with Hermione and her parents, Cho thought sourly.

The last person Cho had to say goodbye to was Michael, of course. She hugged him close, and planted a kiss on his jaw.

"Now, we're going to have to write every single day," she murmured in his ear. He sort of nodded, but he didn't say anything. He cut off the hug rather abruptly, and waded through the crowd towards the barrier.

Cho frowned. Was he angry because she had kissed him in front of everyone? But nobody was paying attention to the two of them in this mob, and it would be such a long time before they saw each other again.

She went through the barrier and spotted her father, who was waiting with no signs of impatience. "Daddy!" she shrieked, and threw herself into his arms.

Son Chang was not a hasty man. In fact, if he had any flaw it was that he sometimes spent too much time considering his next move. In this spirit, he had cautioned his daughter last summer to put thoughts of He Who Must Not Be Named out of her head. Time would tell if You Know Who had really come back, and there was no use in jumping to false conclusions.

Now he wasn't sure what to think. He had slowly been coming around to the idea that a few renegade Death Eaters may have killed the Diggory boy while attempting to stage a comeback, but You Know Who himself? It was impossible, and yet the _Daily Prophet_ and Minister Fudge had both confirmed Cho's wild story. Son kept adding up the pieces in his mind, trying to make sense of it all.

And then of course there was Cho, his darling, grieving daughter. At Christmas, she had seemed a little happier than she had when she left for her sixth year, which Son attributed to rejoining her friends at Hogwarts. When she stepped off the Hogwarts Express to come home for the summer, she seemed almost back to normal – perhaps a little quieter, but given the news that was to be expected. And yet now, barely two days later, he walked past her door and heard her weeping inside.

Another father might have rushed in to comfort his daughter, or tried to resolve whatever was troubling her. Son Chang kept going. A few days later, having done some thinking and consulting his wife Takara, he asked Cho over dinner whether she'd like to spend a few days with some friends.

From the way her face lit up, he knew he'd made the right decision. She replied immediately, "I'd like to visit Marietta Edgecombe, Daddy, if that's okay."

Son had hoped that she would ask to visit a family they knew a little better, like the Fawcetts. But Cho was almost seventeen now; surely he could trust her judgment. And he certainly hadn't heard anything bad about the Edgecombes.

By the time he'd worked his way through this logic, Takara had given her approval. Cho jumped up from her seat and fluttered around the table to hug her parents. It was an excellent plan. Cho would spend a few days with her friend Marietta, and by the time her birthday came she'd be happy and smiling. Not like that fiasco last year.

Cho danced up the stairs and into her room. It would be so nice to hear Marietta speak again, and to see her without those horrid marks on her face. She and Cho had exchanged letters, of course, but that was hardly the same thing. Getting to see her and talk to her, though, was almost worth getting the break-up letter that Michael had sent her. Why couldn't things ever work out for her? Michael had broken things off with no warning, and Harry had turned out to be a dick, and Cedric –

Resolutely she put them all out of her mind and focused on Marietta. The healers had removed the greater part of a powerful Memory Charm from her as well as the pustules. Cho had fumed at that when she read Marietta's letter. Memory Charms were for wayward Muggles, not punishment for breaking a rule in a teenagers' club. Trust a Muggle-born to commit the most heinous offenses! St. Mungo's wasn't able to remove the entire charm – not surprising, considering who had cast it – but they had recalled most of her classes. That meant less catching up to do over the summer, and more of things like shopping.

If Marietta's mother agreed to the visit (and Cho was certain that she would), then in a day or two she'd be going through the Floo Network to the Edgecombes' flat. In a week and a half she'd be eligible to get her Apparition license, but for now she would have to travel in soot. Cho wrinkled her nose. Why couldn't they use pink sparkles in fireplaces? But no matter. The important thing was that she was going to spend the next week with Marietta, with no whispers or nasty looks or idiot boys to follow them.

Two days later, Son saw off his daughter. Mrs. Edgecombe had given her permission, Cho's luggage was packed, and now she stood in front of the Chang fire. She said, "Edgecombe Flat" and stepped in with no trouble.

In the days to come, Son would rue the fact that he had not gone with his little girl to make sure she reached her destination safely. At the time, though, such a thought never entered his mind. He went back to his study, humming, and didn't give a moment's thought to his daughter's safely until the next day, when a slightly confused letter from Mrs. Edgecombe arrived.

Takara made the fire call, and her face was pale when she pulled it from the fire.

"Something's happened. Cho never arrived at the flat."

A deep chill enveloped Son, even as he groped for an explanation. "Well, perhaps she got off at the wrong spot, or an ashwinder might have thrown her off course . . . ." He noted absently that Takara's eyes were red.

"Son, it's been over twenty-four hours. Even if she did come out at the wrong fire, wouldn't she have found her way back yet?" As Son struggled to find a way that their daughter could be missing but still safe, Takara pushed past him.

"I'm going to the Ministry. With You Know Who out there, there's no telling what might have happened to her." She grabbed her wand and disappeared with a sharp crack.

Son sat down on the floor in front of the fireplace and put his head in his hands. He Who Must Not Be Named was on the loose, and his beautiful, helpless daughter had gone missing. Had she even taken her wand?

He choked back a sob and stared into the fireplace. Would he ever see his daughter again?


	2. Heading for a storm, no way to turn

**Chapter 2**

Heading for a storm, no way to turn...

Whirling through the chimneys in the Floo network, Cho seemed to pass behind several particularly dirty ones. The ashes rose into her face, tickled her nose, and trickled into her throat, causing her to sneeze uncontrollably. Suddenly, she shot out of the Floo network onto a hard stone floor, landing painfully on her hands and knees. Soot swirled around her, as if this fireplace hadn't been used for Floo transportation in a very long time. Trying not to cough from all the dust in her lungs, Cho looked up to see where she was. Before she could even comprehend what she saw, every alarm bell in her brain went off simultaneously, and she felt a moment of pure, unreasoning terror. She was nose to nose with a giant snake.

Immediately, Cho scrambled backwards into the fireplace she had just vacated until her back bumped against its dismayingly hard brick. She gasped, but just as she was about to scream, a deep voice said, "_Petrificus Totalus_" and she found herself unable to move. She could feel the cold stone floor on her hands, and she could feel the hair plastered to her forehead, and she could feel the soot sticking to her throat, but the spell left only her eyeballs free. Once again, she looked up to see if she could figure out what was going on.

The giant snake had slithered away. A few feet in front of her, Cho could see a dining room table that looked out of place in the small room. There were silent people all along its length, but her attention was fixed on the thing seated at one end of the table. It was shaped like a wizard, but its face was deathly white, its eyes were red, and there was no nose on its hideous face. As she frantically ran through her mental catalogue of Dark creatures, its eyes held hers, but only for a moment. They then turned to sweep those at the table dispassionately. After a moment it addressed them, and Cho felt a chill through her entire being at its voice.

"Who was responsible for making sure that this fireplace was disconnected from the Floo Network?"

The silence in the room, which had been absolute, now became profound. Cho was trying to scream and cough at the same time, accomplishing neither but contributing to the growing tightness in her chest. As she watched, the thing twirled its wand idly in its long pale fingers. A small ghost of the Dark Mark rose up from the end, and suddenly Cho knew exactly whose fire she had fallen out of. She tried to scream, but all she could manage were small, panting sighs. She could feel the individual grains of soot on the back of her throat, almost making her gag with their sour taste.

Speechless, she watched as Lord Voldemort stalked over to one of his followers and pulled a man out of his chair. The man fell sprawling onto the floor, and Cho could hear his terrified breaths in the room's desperate silence.

"You cannot lie to Lord Voldemort, Flint. _Ebullio_." Cho quickly averted her eyes from the other side of the room. But the man's screams seemed to trail icy fingers up her spine, and she could not block the scent of meat as it filled the air. After a few seconds, or perhaps a lifetime, the screaming ended and the man stopped flailing. Either the spell had run its course, or its victim had finally lost consciousness.

Voldemort then turned to Cho, raising his wand as he did so. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Cho had lost all ability to breathe. The floor felt like ice beneath her palms. She commanded her muscles to move, but the charm held her stiff as a board. She tried to shut out the sight of her death approaching, but not even her eyelids would obey her. And then a vaguely familiar voice shouted, "No!"

Voldemort turned, obviously irritated, but Cho could see a blond boy jumping to his feet from the corner of her eye. "She's a member of Dumbledore's Army! She's Harry Potter's girlfriend, or at least she used to be. She might have information we can use, my lord." Cho could barely concentrate on what he was saying. Somehow she couldn't focus on anything other than Voldemort's wand.

Lord Voldemort let the silence spin for a long time. Cho tore her eyes away from the Dark Lord long enough to see the boy sink back into his chair, looking apprehensive. It was the Slytherin Seeker, who was always bothering Harry. Malcolm, or Macnair, or something like that. Finally, Voldemort spoke. "Excellent suggestion, young Malfoy. You, Wormtail, lock her into a room somewhere. We'll find out what's in that pretty little head." He smiled mirthlessly at Cho, and she lost consciousness.

When she awoke, Cho found herself in yet another strange room. This one had no fireplace, but there was a window and a rickety bed. She was slumped against a corner, dressed in an old patched nightgown but still covered in ashes. There was no sign of her clothes or trunk.

She could see her wand, however. It was in the hand of a short, rat-faced man who pointed it right at her heart, its tip quivering.

"Awake, girl? Well, listen up. There's no way out of this room, and even if you do find a way, here's what will happen to you." He raised his arm, allowing the long sleeves of his robe to fall back, and Cho could see that he wore a silver glove. As she watched, not daring to move, he tightened his grip and the end of her wand was reduced to dust. He crumbled the rest of her wand bit by bit, until all that was left was a handful of rowan splinters and a phoenix feather, which had been impervious to the crushing grip. He put the feather into a pocket, and carelessly brushed the dust off of his hand and onto the floor.

The entire demonstration was more than a little unnerving. How could anyone destroy her wand? It would be like cutting off a hand. Certainly not something that could actually happen. She could feel tears streaming down her face, but she felt detached from them, as if someone else were crying. She must have made some sound, though, because the man began to look repentant as he gazed at her.

"Don't cry, girl, don't cry. I just did it to make sure that you don't get hurt. If you had tried to go after him with it, he would have killed you outright. It's – it's all for the best this way." He took a step toward her; Cho immediately scrambled to her feet and pressed her back against the wall. She felt herself cough hoarsely.

He stopped, thankfully, and backed away slowly, speaking in what was apparently meant to be a soothing tone.

"There, there, girl. Wormtail isn't going to do anything to you. They'll just come and ask you some questions later, and if you go along with it, you won't be hurt. You'll see." He stepped out the door and closed it. Cho could hear the sound of a bolt being drawn. She counted to five, too quickly, then rushed over to try the knob. Even before she turned it, though, she knew that the situation was hopeless. They had locked her in.

As the adrenalin rush faded, Cho started coughing so hard that she doubled up. She managed to stumble over to the bed, and pulled the thin coverlet over her shoulders. Her wand was gone. In a way it was worse than what had happened before, because it was so unexpected. Everyone knew that Lord Voldemort killed people, but who would ever expect their wand to be destroyed?

When she had recovered from her coughing fit, she sat up and looked out the small grimy window. It had been sunny when she left her home just a little while ago, but here it was cloudy and raining. That seemed fitting.

Tears welled up in her eyes and ran down her cheeks. She felt as if she was about to be torn apart. Dumbledore's Army was supposed to be something fun, something she could use to get closer to Harry and stick it to Umbridge . . . and to avenge Cedric.

Only now she was in the den of the serpent, literally, and she had no wand and no way to escape. And she was probably going to die here, after spilling her guts to a bunch of nameless, faceless Death Eaters.

Another coughing fit wracked her body, and she thought bitterly that she probably wouldn't be able to tell them anything anyway, with all of the soot in her throat and lungs.

And then it hit her. She might not be able to do anything about these Death Eaters. She might not be able to fight them or run away. She would probably die here, in fact. But in the memory of Cedric and every other person who had been killed or tortured by them, the least she could ensure was that Voldemort gained no information from Cho Chang. She would go to the grave before she revealed what she had learned in the DA, or anything at all about Harry's life. That was something that she could do.

Comforted by this grim declaration, Cho curled up under the sheet and tried to control her breathing. In time her eyes closed, and she slept.

Draco had always pictured a big, elaborate ceremony for someone becoming a Death Eater. There would be a big dark cave, with torchlight flickering across the walls like tiger stripes. A ring of all the full-fledged Death Eaters would surround the initiate, the shadows beneath their long hoods giving no hint of their true identities. There would be dark rituals involving sleek sharp knives and chalices and roughly whispered incantations.

The reality, when it finally happened, was heartbreakingly blunt and mundane. Draco swore his allegiance to the Dark Lord in a small receiving room, in a drab old manor house, empty brown portrait frames bearing mute witness. Oh, the oath was impressive enough, but after Draco had sworn his life and his love and his bones and his blood to the Dark Lord, he simply grabbed Draco's arm and touched his wand to it. A brief burst of pain/pleasure running up his arm and into his heart, and the whole thing was over.

Draco looked down to see the familiar skull-and-snake image leering Gryffindor red from his forearm. As he watched, it sank into his skin and disappeared. "Thank you, master," he whispered.

"It will appear again when I summon you. You will feel it, also." Draco flinched, as he always did at the Dark Lord's – his master's – voice. Internally, he cursed his weakness and forced himself to look into those inhuman crimson eyes without cringing. It would not do to shrink from power. "It will remain visible while you are on missions, so that your fellow Death Eaters can identify you. Should I ever appear to be vanquished," (Draco's mind filled in the missing _again_) "it will reappear to signal my impending return."

"Yes, my lord." Draco kept his eyes downcast, but he couldn't stop a smile from spreading over his face. This was a power far beyond petty schoolyard squabbles. Let Potter and his gang try to hex them! Let them talk about his father now!

The Dark Lord waved a hand in airy dismissal. "You may go." After kissing the hem of his master's robes, Draco retreated to the kitchen.

No one was there, except Auntie Bella and the house elf, Tallie. Auntie Bella was knitting, her fingers a blur but her empty eyes focused on nothing in particular. A shapeless blue hat, sloppily stitched, was taking form in her lap. Draco sat opposite from her at the table and ordered Tallie to make him a tuna sandwich. He sneaked a look at his forearm, but it was still blank and white.

Auntie Bella took no notice of his arrival, but that was usual. He had worried about her, when he first came to this house. This wreck of a woman seemed to bear no resemblance to the vivacious, dangerous Bella of his mother's stories. In the Dark Lord's presence he could see a faint trace of the aunt he had always heard about, but away from him she seemed as dormant as a homunculus without a task. He was glad to see her knitting, though – usually, she simply sat or stood in whatever place Voldemort had ordered her to go, still, silent, and utterly unnerving.

He had mentally executed Potter, the Weasel, and the Mudblood a dozen different ways, surreptitiously peeked at his forearm half a dozen times, and finished off nearly his entire sandwich when she spoke.

"I remember when I took the Mark." Draco paused in the middle of a mouthful.

"I had just turned seventeen. I was inducted with six others, all from my Hogwarts class save one." Her harsh voice had taken on a dreamy quality. "There was no one else there, only us and him in the ruins of an old castle down in Wales. He called each of us up, had us swear to be faithful to him with will and wand, by troth and bond – but you know the oath, of course. As I bound myself by speaking those words, I remember thinking that they were the first true things I had ever said.

"After that, we Apparated into a shop a few miles away from the castle. There were eight Muggles in there, going about their stupid little lives. We each killed one, to show our loyalty to our master. He killed one himself, and the honor of the last cleansing went to me. It was glorious."

Draco was barely breathing. A well of jealousy had risen up in him, and he cursed Potter again for denying this world to him. His aunt looked at him, for the first time since he had come in. For the first time since he had come to this house. Probably for the first time ever.

"For all that we have lost, all that we rightfully deserve, it is our duty to make the world secure for our descendants. We serve the Dark Lord, and through him every pureblood witch and wizard. Remember this."

Draco waited expectantly for more, but Auntie Bella had apparently said all she meant to on the subject. After a moment she dropped her eyes and her needles started up again.

He finished his sandwich and licked his fingers. He fell into a pleasurable daydream about setting fire to the Weasleys' hut and killing each one as he or she ran out. An adoring Pansy would be on his arm – no, better, Chang, newly converted to the Dark Lord's cause. Deciding that it would not be at all inappropriate to celebrate later, he told Tallie to take a bottle of firewhiskey up to his room. He snuck another look at his forearm. Auntie Bella continued to drop stitches, but didn't say another word.

Half an hour after he had come into the kitchen, an intensely pleasurable feeling swept through Draco's entire body. He flushed, but Auntie Bella didn't seem to take any notice. When he glanced reflexively at his left forearm, however, the Mark glared up at him, jet black.

Draco rose shakily and made his way out of the door and down the hall. As always, he had to stop before he entered the receiving room. There was always that wild desire to turn and run, and he had to get himself under control. His master turned to him when he entered the room, mouth twisted into a fearsome grimace.

"Excellent, my servant. And now I will give you your first mission.

"Go to the girl and discover all she knows about Harry Potter and his allies. Use any means necessary, but do not attract the attention of the Ministry. If possible, convert her to our cause; if she refuses, then turn her over to me.

"Succeed in this and I will reward you greatly." Draco felt something unpleasantly odd; he looked down to see Nagini delicately tasting one of his ankles. "Fail me, and you will suffer the consequences."

The audience was obviously at an end, but Draco decided to take a gamble. "Y-yes, my lord. Only, I wanted to know when we'd be re-rescuing my father from . . . " The Dark Lord was looking at him with more than a trace of irritation, and Draco trailed off miserably into silence. There was an awkward pause.

"Go, young Malfoy, and do not question the timing of the Dark Lord," his master said finally, and his voice was like ice. Draco quickly bent to kiss his robes and beat a hasty retreat. He hoped that Lord Voldemort did not hear the way his footsteps sped up as he practically flew down the hallway. It was a full five minutes before he could calm the shudders running through his body.

Now he stood at the door of the room where Chang was being held. His master's words came back to him. _Succeed and you will be rewarded . . . fail, and you will suffer the consequences_. He straightened his shoulders and knocked.


End file.
